This happens much more often than I'd like to admit.

But I'm just gonna keep reading and making art shit.
Inspirations:

Total light envelops you, it becomes you.

In psych tests on deep space, I ran a number of sensory deprivation trials, tested in total darkness, on flotation tanks - and the point about darkness is, you float in it. You and the darkness are distinct from each other because darkness is an absence of something, it’s a vacuum. But total light envelops you. It becomes you. It’s very strange. I recommend it.
-Sunshine (2007)

I mean this in the most pure and existential and we-are-all-one, infinite, way possible.

And so begins my newfound obsession with space and mysteries and galaxies and light and the sun and I cannot wait to finally buy myself Cosmos by Carl Sagan because it's been on my reading list forever but now it's relevant. I've always been interested in space, as a child I would star gaze and look for planets with my dad, and then study the pages in the back of the dictionary about our solar system. Goodness, we live in such a big place.. I want to embrace everything in the universe and be a part of it and just hug everyone. This is something similar to what I felt reading the last book of the Golden Compass/His Dark Materials trilogy... This oneness. With nature and all people and everything.

Yesterday I finally watched the film "Sunshine," directed by Danny Boyle (28 Days Later, Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours...) and starring Cillian Murphy (Scarecrow in Batman Begins) and also featuring Rose Byrne (I always remember her in Bridesmaids) and Chris Evans (Capt. America)... Surprisingly, I didn't look any of that up to write this. I'm simply blown away by this movie. I found it utterly entrancing and beautiful in ways that are hard to put to words. The cinematography was breathtaking. And the combination of the other-wordly images with the amazing music (John Murphy) was truly a masterpiece. I highly recommend this movie to everyone, because even with the few weaknesses in the storyline (I actually don't mind them, but a lot of reviews did), I think the film still absolutely succeeded. I actually found it to be a bit of a spiritual experience.

For the record, Sunshine is about a team of astronauts sent to reignite the dying sun.

Here are some of the absolutely stunning scenes from the film...

No spoilers: (for better quality of this scene go here I couldn't embed it)

Some spoilers:

Amazing clips with spoilers that cannot be embedded: one | two


So here I am, sinking into both the Sunshine soundtrack (your heart will burst) and some Angels and Airwaves, because they've always been out there in a sort of cosmic way. And this song, A Little's Enough, illustrates a lot of what I'm feeling right now. Because I do have a lot of bad days, everyone does. But a little love is enough. And the instrumental part at the beginning tugs at my soul. Goodness, sometimes I just feel so whole. So a part of everything else. And it's truly limitless.

"A Little's Enough"

When all is said and done 

Will we still feel pain inside? 

Will the scars go away with night? 

Try to smile for the morning light

It's like the best dream to have 

Where every thing is not so bad 

Every tear is so alone 

Like God himself is coming home to say 

I, I can do anything 

If you want me here 

And I can fix any thing 

If you let me near 

Where are those secrets now

That you're too scared to tell 

I'd whisper them all aloud 

So you can hear yourself 

Green trees were the first sign 

The deepest blue, the clearest sky

The silence came with the brightest eyes 

And turned water into wine 

The children ran to see 

The parents stood in disbelief 

And those who knew braced for the ride 

The earth itself then came alive to say

I, I can do anything 

If you want me here 

And I can fix anything 

If you let me near 

Where are those secrets now 

That you're too scared to tell

I whisper them all aloud 

So you can hear yourself 

I'm sorry I have to say it but you look like you're sad 

Your smile is gone; I've noticed it bad 

The cure is if you let in just a little more love

I promise you this, a little's enough

[x6]

(Just a little...)

It's just weird because I've never heard you say you wanted that before. I've never heard you say that you want the same profession I want and I wish you would just come out and say that maybe I've inspired you to pursue this or something or at least point out that it blatantly seems as though you're copying me because this is the shit you always pull and it's aggravating. You're aggravating.
And I'm really incredibly fed up with you always talking about yourself. You've told me the same stories multiple times because... Well I really couldn't tell you why. You want to garner attention so badly you have to tell me everything five times? I just... It's so unnecessary and I don't care. I really don't care about every little detail. You've lost your mystery to me. I feel as though I know everything you're going to say before you say it and that's because you've already said it. It's boring. And I cannot fathom why you feel the need to try and get my attention. I don't get it. It's so unnecessary. I'm not a boy you're trying to impress or something. Why are you trying to impress me? You're trying to hard and it disgusts me.
I'm just fed up and you're like a broken record and you give me a headache.

Letter

My homework for my Fiction Writing class was to write my professor a letter introducing myself...

Rachel, 

            My name is Cassandra. Most people pronounce it a different way than I do, so I try to understand when I’m called the wrong name. Almost everyone outside of the professional world calls me Cassie, which I find to be lightweight and reflecting of my playful nature. However, as a writer, I prefer Cassandra. I even use the pen name Cassandra Fox (Fox is my grandmother’s maiden name and the fox is my spirit animal). 

            I’m hunched in the dark, losing my mind to the painstakingly mournful music that permeates my room. My purple and yellow socks usually stand full mast at my calves, but have fallen into wrinkled heaps at my ankles. This is me. This is me surrendering to my midnight illness, the plague of this young fox’s mind. Reaching down to grab my bright pink and orange flower cup, I take a long gulp of something other than water. Foxes are known for being cunning, and I have begun to believe that their ability to achieve through deceit is based upon their complete awareness of the world.  

           Sometimes I stare wide-eyed at the world and wonder if it is my awareness that makes me so vulnerable to my mind when I am alone in the inky depths of darkness. 

            The cunning fox will never allow you to know how she feels, so she will hide her vulnerabilities at all costs. However, her awareness of the world means that she is also aware of herself and, because of this, she is aware that hiding her wounds will only make them hurt more. She must first allow them to heal in the forest a breeze. As every fox knows, you can trust no one but yourself. She finds her breath of relief in writing, because she is opening up to a different world, one where open wounds in the forest are not her downfall. Once she worried who might come across the words she so carefully chewed, but the fox realized that with words, all things are possible. 

             With words, the cunning fox stands in a bipedal manner, her two long legs stretching for miles beneath her strong torso. This is her mask. The fox grows from forest floor to busy street, stopping only to run her fingers through her long hair. The red hair and green eyes are all that are left of her past life, but now the cunning fox is free to achieve her desires through deceit. Now she can be vulnerable, because she is being someone else. In the shadows she writes out her worries and pains, waiting till the morning when the sun will shine again. 

            As a fox, she is more than capable of surviving on her own in the wild, but as a human being, there is nothing that hurts her more than being alone with her thoughts at night. And so she writes. 

 Cassandra

right now.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.
-Richard Siken

-Richard Siken

I'm sorry. I wish you were here to hold me and I sorry. I want to tell you when I'm hurting but I'm scared I'll hurt you. I miss you and I'm so bad at everything and I'm sorry.

I just can't.

I'm trying to take deep breaths but I'm shaking and I'm shaking and I just can't (breathe?). Outstretched hands in front of me, quivering. This is why I hate my name and the price that comes with it. The curse of knowing the future and not being able to stop the cracks in the pavement. Have I ever told you about this? No, of course not. I seem crazy. Hand shaking, skittering. Crazy. My breath shudders because what else is there to do. I am stuck in a loop, taking the first bite of an apple over and over again but never the last licking of lips. Never the satisfaction. It's a sore feeling I get in my kneecaps every time, the memory of sprinting until they knock together and my whole body folding in half. I am nothing more than fabric in the wind, the catching of the sunlight in what is left of your broken glass. There is the cut from the glass from the dream I once had, and you lay among it all, sweet syruped lies dripping from your lips. How many times did you tell me it would all be okay? Could you stop time to stop the itching in my bones? Can we keep the glass from dropping? Because no one should be crying over spilled milk, but here I am ripping my guts out of my stomach to show them to an anonymous source. And I'm pretty sure this nightmare is the worst of all, shadowy hands reaching away from my body, to grab what I can only hope is mine. Something other than my intestines, a noose wrapped softly along my neck taking place of the fingerprints and kisses you once left. You're gone. I've shot up, eclipses instead of eyes, and there are the withered tears again. It's not spilled milk I'm crying over, it's not. I just can't bring myself to breathe, so instead I heave, and cough up the glass I choked down. There is a whisper wrapping around my soul, and I'm praying it crushes me before my vision becomes whole. Maybe I should have gouged my eyes out before the feeling of my heart pounding against my chest stopped me in my tracks. Here I am frozen, watching the same moment over and over again. The pure white snow covering up the pain that your tracks made. The tracks being made again, and the snowflakes falling again, and the dancing and the same moment over and over again. I don't want to watch you leave, but there are your tracks walking away from me. And there is the snow. I don't want you to go.